


missing person at the window

by shineyma



Series: chasing those lies [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Fake Marriage, Season/Series 01, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Tyler Lynch wants his wife to meet one of his old Army buddies, but that's not the only familiar face at the VA social.(Does anyone remember that Jemma isn't trained for this? Because Jemma ISN'T TRAINED FOR THIS and she's got papers to write. For the cover.)
Relationships: Grant Ward & Thomas Ward, Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Series: chasing those lies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1105182
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	missing person at the window

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da! Week FIVE of fifty-two! I have managed a fic for EVERY WEEK IN JANUARY!!! Are y'all proud of me because I am super proud of myself.
> 
> This is part of the chasing those lies verse, so if you're not already familiar with it, you might wanna read the first fic in this series. I THINK it'll stand alone, but just in case. Also there are a couple drabbles in the ['verse tag on my tumblr.](https://shineyma.tumblr.com/tagged/verse%3A-chasing-those-lies/chrono)
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

Jemma is neck-deep in obscure trivia when the front door opens.

“Hey, baby,” Ward says. She doesn’t turn her head to look, but after all these weeks of living together, she can fill in the pause with everything he’s doing—kicking off his shoes, emptying his pockets, sorting through the mail he’ll have grabbed on his way in. “How’s the studying going?”

“Did you know Marcin Wasilewski has won six Fryderyk awards?” she asks.

Still not looking up, she hears him enter the kitchen. “I didn’t. Who’s Marcin Wasilewski?”

“A Polish jazz pianist,” she says, and pauses. “And also a footballer. But the footballer hasn’t won any Fryderyks, as far as I’ve read.”

“Uh huh.” The refrigerator opens and closes. A bottle is set on the counter. “And Fryderyks are?”

“The Polish answer to the Grammys.”

“Ah.” There’s the _dink_ of a cap being pried off a bottle, and then a moment of silence as Ward, presumably, takes a long drink. Finally, he says, “So what I’m hearing is that the studying isn’t going at all.”

Jemma makes a despairing noise and buries her face in her hands.

“I haven’t even _started_ my paper,” she mourns. “I was just going to collect some references, and the reference section of a Wikipedia article is always a good place to start on finding sources, and then—”

She trails off miserably as Ward laughs.

“Sounds like you need a break,” he says, and startles the life out of her when he appears to set a bottle of beer at her elbow. Fortunately, his reflexes are in excellent working order; he catches her arm before she can knock the bottle off the counter. “And I have just the thing.”

“Do you?” she asks—and then she realizes, “Wait, no, a break is the _last_ thing I need! I’ve spent _all day_ in a Wikipedia hole! I haven’t accomplished anything! If I don’t get this paper started—”

She breaks off as he gives the arm he’s still holding a little squeeze. Looking at him, she’s met with raised eyebrows and a meaningful look.

Oh. Right.

Nothing will actually happen if she doesn’t complete her term paper, will it? Well, it will be personally devastating and, honestly, a little bit painful—she’s never taken an Incomplete in her life—but there will be no long-term effects on her degree or her career.

She’s not _actually_ here to get a degree in medicine. She’s undercover.

And if Ward’s expression is any indication, the break he has planned is mission-relevant.

“Well,” she says, and swallows nervously. “Perhaps a real break couldn’t hurt. What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a social at the VA tonight,” he says, taking the stool next to hers. She scoots a few of her (embarrassingly unopened) books aside; the breakfast bar is an excellent place to study, but it’s not quite wide enough for two people. “My therapist thinks I should go.”

Jemma stills with the beer he kindly brought her halfway to her mouth. “And you’re…listening?”

His wry laughter reassures her; she goes ahead and takes a drink.

“Maybe I just wanna show you off to my therapy group,” he suggests, and his tone is teasing enough that there’s only one possible response.

“Or maybe you’re not telling me something.”

He laughs again, more sincerely. “Yeah, you got me. Actually, a buddy of mine from the Army is gonna be there. I’d like you to meet him.”

The words are paired with a highly significant look. Jemma can’t make heads or tails of it, but she supposes it doesn’t matter all that much. Well, it _does_ , in that the curiosity will drive her mad, but…she doesn’t need to know his reasons to follow his lead. Undercover work is Ward’s specialty; if he thinks they need to go to this social, she’s hardly going to disagree.

So she shrugs and closes her laptop.

“That sounds fun,” she says. “What’s the dress code?”

“Nice,” he says, “but not _too_ nice. I’d hate to have to spend all night breaking bones over people staring at you.”

Jemma gives him a flat look. “You do that no matter what I’m wearing.”

He grins, unrepentant, and taps his bottle against hers in a _cheers_ sort of motion. Despite herself, she smiles.

“Then if you wanna stop me,” he says, “you’d better stick close.”

+++

Jemma does stick close. In the first forty-five minutes they spend at the social, she never gets further than a foot from Ward’s side.

Despite this proximity—and the unavoidable hyperawareness of him that comes with it—she’s still taken entirely by surprise when she finds herself dragged into a closet.

Dragged into a closet with a complete stranger, no less.

Has Ward _lost his bloody mind_?

“Tyler!” she snaps, once she’s both found her voice and recovered enough to remember Ward’s cover identity. (One wouldn’t think she’d forget it after a good six weeks of using it every day, but then, one also wouldn’t think that he would bodily drag her and, again, a _complete stranger_ into what looks like a medical supply closet.) “What on _Earth_ —?”

“Tyler?” the complete stranger Ward accosted echoes. He sounds both skeptical and distinctly unamused—not that Jemma can blame him, what with the accosting and all. “Really?”

“I can explain,” Ward says—to the stranger, not to Jemma.

“Great,” the stranger says, crossing his arms. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

…It makes no sense that Ward would randomly abduct a stranger mid-mission. Especially not here and now, at a social in the very building they were sent undercover to investigate. This is the time and place in which their covers matter most; Ward wouldn’t just risk them on a whim.

And for that matter, the stranger is _annoyed_ , not frightened or confused, as one might expect.

There’s only one possible conclusion.

“You two know each other?” she asks.

Ward nods without looking away from the other man. In point of fact, he hasn’t looked away from him once—and now that she’s moved past the shock, Jemma finds herself thinking of the way he trailed off mid-sentence a few moments ago, how he went so still as to frighten her and then guided her across the room with strange purpose. She was just preparing to subtly question his well-being when he grabbed her and this stranger and dragged them into the closet.

This man, whoever he may be, was the cause of that strange behavior. Ward’s eyes have been fixed on him since he spotted him.

“Jemma Simmons,” Ward says (startling her; it’s been weeks since she heard her own name), “meet Thomas Ward. My brother.”

Oh. Ohhhh.

Well.

That rather complicates things, doesn’t it?

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jemma says, for lack of anything else.

Thomas spares her a nod, but doesn’t return the sentiment. He still looks very unamused.

“What are you doing here, Grant?” he demands. “How did you even find me?”

Oh, Jemma doesn’t like that phrasing at all. It sounds very unhappy and full of uncomfortable history. She darts a glance at the door, wondering if she might be able to escape without their notice…but a look at Ward’s ( _her_ Ward’s, that is) face stops her.

She’s never seen that look on his face before. She can’t even name it, can’t identify the emotion that’s painted all over his features, but it’s definitely not good.

He brought her along to this closet for a reason. She can’t just _abandon_ him.

So she slips her hand into his and braces herself for an incredibly awkward conversation.

“I didn’t,” Ward says, voice heavy with what she tentatively names _heartbreak_. It certainly breaks _her_ heart, at least. She can’t resist the urge to squeeze his hand. “I had no idea—Thomas, I _swear_ , I’ve looked for you for—”

“Then what are you doing here?” Thomas interrupts. “And why did she call you Tyler?”

Ward’s hand spasms around Jemma’s. For a moment, she thinks he’ll press the point…but then his shoulders slump and he lets it go.

“We’re undercover,” he says.

“Under—” Thomas scoffs, but he sounds more confused than disdainful. “What, like you’re some kind of secret agent?”

“Yeah.” Ward shrugs. “We’re SHIELD agents.”

Thomas gapes. For quite a while.

“Something is affecting the wounded veterans who attend group therapy here,” Jemma explains, feeling compelled to fill the silence. “We suspect alien technology may be involved, so we were sent to—”

“SHIELD?” Thomas asks. He looks absolutely shell-shocked; she wonders if he even heard her. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Ward says.

Thomas’ mouth does something odd—a strange twitch like it doesn’t know whether to smile or sneer.

“They recruit out of juvie, do they?” he asks, and Ward…

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he does the exact opposite. He goes completely, utterly still; Jemma doesn’t even think he’s breathing.

And yet, _flinches_ is the word that springs to mind. It’s odd.

Either way, the question clearly wounds him—and while she has questions of her own (juvie? _Ward_? Really? What on Earth _for_?), she’s not just going to stand by and force him to answer it himself.

“Yes, as it happens.” Her concern for Ward—and, honestly, insult on his behalf—leaves her voice a touch sharp. “SHIELD often recruits young offenders. A single youthful mistake doesn’t preclude someone becoming a productive member of society—or even a hero. You’ve heard of Hawkeye, I trust?”

She pairs the question with her most severe frown…and Thomas, to her satisfaction, appears chastened.

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he addresses Ward directly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just…you gotta admit, you were pretty out of control the last time I saw you.”

Ward’s fingers tighten so severely around Jemma’s that her hand aches, but he nods slowly. The smile he offers Thomas is decidedly shaky.

“I know,” he says, “and I’m sorry. I had to face all that recently and—and I know I crossed a few lines. Or…more than a few.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says. “Way more than a few. But...” He wets his lips. “SHIELD helped you?”

The last bit is the least skeptical he’s yet been—in fact, she’d even call him hopeful. Ward must agree; his hold on her hand finally loosens, and the tension drains out of his frame.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I have a—a mentor, I guess. He pulled me out of juvie, set me on the right path. Showed me a way forward.” He smiles a little, quick and fond. “He saved my life.”

“I’m glad,” Thomas says, and honestly looks it. “And…I really am sorry. It’s been fifteen years; it wasn’t fair of me to throw ancient history in your face like that.”

“Sure it was,” Ward disagrees. His smile has faded into something painful. “I know you got caught in the middle of all of that— _that_ wasn’t fair. I’m sorry. For dragging you into my mess and—and everything else.”

What ‘everything else’ might entail, Jemma couldn’t even begin to guess, but the apology clearly means the world to Thomas. He lets out a slow exhale that ends on a nod.

“Apology accepted,” he says softly. “Thanks.”

Ward returns the nod, but doesn’t speak. Silence draws out between them, thick and—for Jemma—quite uncomfortable. She rather wishes she’d missed all of this; Ward is such a private person, it must be killing him to have to reunite with his apparently long-lost brother in front of an audience.

…And yet. He was the one who dragged her along, wasn’t he? He could have simply excused himself and taken Thomas aside without her knowledge, but he chose to pull her into this. And though she was the one who took his hand, he’s yet to let go.

Perhaps she’s managed to comfort him a little.

The thought warms her…and emboldens her. Neither man has moved to end the silence, and she thinks the room ( _closet_ ) could use some lightening. To say nothing of the fact that she and Ward are, technically, on a mission, and they won’t accomplish anything by hanging around here all night.

“Does that everything else include abducting him into a closet?” she asks, nudging Ward with her elbow. “Because I rather think we _both_ deserve an apology for that.”

“Hey, yeah,” Thomas says, matching her light tone. “What’s up with that?”

“Sorry,” Ward says—not that he sounds it. He gives Jemma’s hand a squeeze she thinks might be thankful. “But I saw you recognize me and couldn’t risk you blowing my cover. So…”

“So you thought dragging me into a closet would be less suspicious?” Thomas asks flatly.

Ward looks expectantly to Jemma, which puzzles her until—

“Oh! I know this one!” she realizes. “When your cover is in danger, you must act swiftly to either divert the threat or minimize fallout. Thomas is your brother, so of course you wouldn’t have been able to convince him he had mistaken you for someone else. So you chose to bring him to an isolated location, far enough from the party that the risk of being overheard is negligible.”

“Exactly,” Ward says approvingly, and then shrugs at Thomas. “Better to have an awkward conversation in a supply closet than to have to explain to everyone in my therapy group why I’ve been using a fake name.”

Thomas’ answering smile lasts only a moment before being replaced by a perplexed frown. “Why is SHIELD sending undercover agents into a random VA center anyway?”

Jemma _knew_ he wasn’t listening.

“We have evidence that suggests alien technology is being used on wounded veterans who attend the weekly group therapy,” she explains again. “We’re investigating.”

Thomas looks appropriately horrified.

“Speaking of which,” Ward says, frowning, “what are _you_ doing here? You don’t have military training.”

Jemma blinks up at him. That last bit wasn’t a question.

“How do you know?” she asks in an undertone.

His answering smile might verge on condescending—but it’s _fondly_ condescending, at least, and she’s well aware she’s frequently been guilty of a similar expression.

“I just do,” he says.

“Well, you’re right,” Thomas says. He looks a bit uncomfortable, perhaps at Ward’s inexplicable knowledge? “I don’t. My, uh, my roommate’s ex-Army. He’s been talking about checking out one of these socials for months, but he didn’t wanna come alone. So. Here I am.” He hesitates, frowning. “I really should get back to him.”

Ward looks about to protest—and it’s not as if Jemma can blame him, not when his reunion with his brother has been so short and so fraught—but the truth is, Thomas isn’t the only one who might be missed.

“We should get back, too,” she says. “We still haven’t found your friend, Tyler.”

“Right,” he says, face going distressingly blank.

Jemma hurries to continue, “But perhaps Thomas would be willing to visit us at home sometime soon? Do some more catching up?”

Thomas seems to hesitate for a moment—a moment in which Ward’s hand tightens painfully around Jemma’s once more—before smiling. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Great.” Ward’s smile is also tentative, enough so to double Jemma’s curiosity. Just what _happened_ between the two of them, that even a simple invitation is somehow so charged? How does it connect to whatever landed Ward in custody as a minor?

But, as she reminds herself sternly, it’s none of her business. She won’t repay Ward’s trust by digging into what’s obviously a very painful history.

So she shoves down all of her many, many questions in favor of finally detangling her hand from his. She’s bizarrely reluctant to let go—although her fingers thank her for it, as blood rushes to fill them once more—but if Thomas is going to visit, he’ll need their address, and it’s easier to dig through her purse with her dominant hand.

“Here,” she says, once she unearths a crumpled receipt she can scrawl their address—and, after a moment of thought, their mobile numbers—on. “Just so you’re aware, our neighbors know us as Claire and Tyler Lynch.”

“Right.” Thomas shakes his head as he tucks the receipt into a pocket. “That’s gotta be interesting.”

“All part of the job,” Ward says, shrugging it off. “And we don’t have much to do with the neighbors anyway.”

The sideways look he gives her as he says it alerts Jemma that he’s about to make another comment about Pierce—and while it hopefully wouldn’t be a threatening one, considering his brother’s presence, she’s still had quite enough of his insistence that their perfectly friendly neighbor is out to steal her away.

So while it’s only the nice thing to do, she must admit that saying, “I’ll just give you two a moment, shall I?” and slipping out of the closet ahead of Ward and Thomas is really more about sparing herself the aggravation that letting them part in privacy.

+++

Selfish motives aside, however, it was definitely the right move—or so Jemma is congratulating herself twenty minutes later, when Ward _still_ hasn’t rejoined her. Obviously he needed more time with Thomas than he was willing to admit.

She thinks to reward herself with some of the cookies that have been tempting her from across the room all evening, but halfway to the snack table, she’s intercepted.

“ _There_ you are,” Ward says, catching her arm and pulling her around to face—another stranger. Hopefully this is the man they actually came to meet; as well as it ended, she doesn’t think she can bear another emotionally-charged reunion. “Where’ve you been—”

“—all my life,” the stranger cuts in, taking both her hands in his. He gives her a frankly devastating smile. “I’m Maddox and—”

“—and you’re keeping your hands to yourself,” Ward says sharply, “before I break them.”

“Touchy,” Maddox chides, but he does release her hands. “What’s got you in such a mood, Lynch?”

Ward wraps his arm around Jemma’s shoulders, pulls her in close, and doesn’t respond.

Jemma can guess, however. She only hopes his prickliness is down to being overwhelmed by the whole Thomas business and not a sign that things soured after she left.

“I know, I know,” Maddox says, “you’re always in a mood. You’d think being back in the land of air conditioning and bikinis would cheer you up a bit.”

“Would you?” Ward scoffs—but it sounds less harsh than it might.

“If not that, then surely _she_ would,” Maddox says, turning a grin on Jemma. “You’re the famous Claire, right? I’ve been dying to meet you for _years_ —heard so much about you.”

“Have you?” she asks, thinking of what she’s learned and observed of Tyler’s private nature. “That’s a surprise.”

Maddox’s grin widens. (And what a grin it is. Jemma might swoon.) “Ah, you caught me. Ty’s a taciturn bastard—never could get more than three words out of him. But you were right,” he adds, turning back to Ward, “she _is_ gorgeous.”

“Keep your eyes to yourself, too,” Ward says flatly, his arm tightening around Jemma’s shoulders.

It strikes her as a rather rude way to address one of one’s supposed “buddies,” but Maddox only laughs.

“Now, Ty,” he says, “you know I’m no threat.”

“No one’s a threat,” Jemma feels compelled to tell him. “It never stops him. I’ve decided to find it attractive.”

Ward relaxes a little, laughing under his breath. Maddox appears taken aback.

“That,” he says after a pause, “is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” He shakes his head. “How’d you end up with an asshole like him?” Eyeing Ward assessingly, he adds, “If he’s blackmailing you, just know that help’s available—”

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Ward says, but he’s truly laughing as he says it.

It’s the lightest she’s ever seen Tyler with anyone but her. She’d all but forgotten their conversation from this afternoon, the significant look she couldn’t parse when he said he wanted her to meet his old Army buddy, but…could it be that Ward truly considers Maddox a friend?

She turns into Ward’s side so as to wrap her arm around his waist, feeling a bit awful for him. How sad must it be, she wonders, to befriend someone as part of a cover? To build a real relationship and know that once your mission is over, you can never see them again? And maybe even to wonder if they’d like the real you as much as they do the person you’ve invented?

Jemma’s deliberately avoided building any true friendships as Claire, but that was only out of fear that her attempts at maintaining her cover would collapse under close scrutiny. She’s suddenly grateful for that bit of practicality.

But this isn’t the moment for woolgathering. She shakes herself, realizing the conversation has continued without her.

“—know it’s always a bit dicey,” Maddox is saying.

“Yeah,” Ward agrees, “but I think you’ll be good here. And if not…”

He trails off, gesturing vaguely with the hand draped over Jemma’s shoulders. In her peripheral vision and vague as it is, though, she knows enough of Tyler’s—and Ward’s, for that matter—mannerisms to realize he’s offering violence.

Maddox smiles. “Appreciate the offer, Ty. But you know I can handle that myself.”

“You can,” Ward nods. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

Perhaps it’s because she’s not entirely certain what they’re talking about, but Jemma finds that rather touching.

Maddox must too, if his expression is any indication. However, as is often the case with particularly masculine men (and Maddox is, it must be said, _very_ masculine; he’s shorter and bulkier than the tall, chiseled Ward, in a way that brings to mind body-builders and bodice rippers), he’s quick to cover up the first hint of genuine emotion.

“Awwwwwww, Ty,” he coos, fluttering his eyelashes, “you gonna defend my honor? You’re so brave and strong and tough!”

“You forgot handsome,” Ward deadpans, and Maddox snorts with laughter.

“I could never,” he says. “Nobody could, am I right?”

He pairs the last with a knowing look at Jemma.

“It is rather hard to miss,” she agrees, and goes up on her toes to kiss Ward’s jaw, just because she can. “Your facial structure is very appealing.”

Because she’s leaning against him, she can feel the way his chest jumps with suppressed laughter, and knows he’s holding back a reference to the humiliating “gorgeous head” incident with Sitwell. In retaliation, she pinches his side.

Ward—accepting this punishment as well-deserved—kisses her temple.

“That it is,” Maddox, blissfully unaware of the undercurrent, says. “And speaking of appealing facial structures—babe! Over here!”

“Babe?” Ward echoes lowly, feigning surprise. “Don’t tell me your date actually exists.”

The implied accusation is rather rich coming from him, Jemma thinks—as Tyler’s wife existed only on paper for the majority of his acquaintance with Maddox—but she doesn’t have the opportunity to comment on it, whether subtly or not.

She’s far too busy trying to keep her jaw from dropping as Maddox’s date takes his place (or rather, nearly _trips_ into place) next to him.

“Tommy,” he says, looping their arms, “this is my buddy I was telling you about, Ty. And this is Claire, his much prettier half. Ty, Claire, my one hundred percent real boyfriend, Tom Ward.”

Ward’s arm has gone slack around Jemma’s shoulders. A bit hysterically, she wonders what’s done it—is it because his brother is less than straight?

Or is it because he, like she herself, is contemplating how very, very badly this absurd coincidence could destroy their covers?

Either way, it looks like for once, it’s up to her to salvage the situation.

“Hello, Tom-mmm,” she says, biting off the second half of his name at the very last instant. (She quite literally bites her tongue on it, in fact. Ow.) “It’s, um, so nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says faintly. “Yeah, you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: Jemma obviously has no way of knowing, but Grant's reaction (and Thomas' for that matter) is 100% because of how screwed their cover is. He already knew from back in their childhood that Thomas had crushed on guys and after Jemma left, Grant made reference to "leaving the closet" meaning the closet they were in, and Thomas impulsively came out for real. Possibly as a means of self-sabotage, like some part of him was hoping Grant would reject him for it so there wouldn't have to be messy emotions and the difficulty of rebuilding their relationship, but if so, it was a wasted attempt. Grant DOES NOT CARE that his baby brother isn't straight, he's just glad he's ALIVE.
> 
> Also Thomas is out as bisexual/dating a guy with pretty much everyone, it is not a secret. The roommate misdirection was just that moment of instinctive "oshit it's a family member LIE ABOUT EVERYTHING" panic.
> 
> All of which is to say, the end of this fic is not "Thomas gets outed accidentally" because I wouldn't do that to y'all.


End file.
